by Nika Dixon
She was done helping him win.
She reached for Lucy’s hand. The girl squeaked out a frightened sob and clutched her fingers tightly. Emma squeezed back, willing her to stay strong. Glancing sideways, she lowered her head and looked at the ground, tugging on Lucy’s fingers and urging the girl to do the same.
Lucy quickly dropped her chin.
“Well, don’t you two make a pretty picture,” Alan said, his voice cold and uncaring. “What do you think, Victor?”
Victor snorted. “Sure do, Mr. A.”
He herded them all into the house. Stepping through the door, Emma refused to give in to the urge to look behind her for the eyes that were watching her every move.
Alan had no idea what was coming.
And she most certainly was not going to tell him.
No matter how badly her hands burned.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Marshall barely had the truck in park before Danny was out and running for the trees. Ignoring the downpour, Marshall ran after his brother. Anger and fear powered his limbs as he slid through the muck and mud.
Emma had gone into the house, and no one had come back out. The foolish woman had turned herself over to the monster, and now Alan Alexander had both Lucy and Emma.
Marshall knew why she’d done it. She’d made the only play she could, trading herself for Lucy. But there was no way a vicious career criminal was going to leave any witnesses behind. Not even a little girl.
A giant shadow barreled out of the trees and into the open. Sam ran toward them. “They’re on the move!”
“Did you see Lucy?” Danny demanded.
“She’s okay. They put her in the back seat with Emma. Bailey’s going to let us know which road they take.”
“How many men?”
“Three—Alexander, a driver, and Styles.”
“Styles! How the hell is he here? You sure?”
“That giant bald dome is hard to miss.”
“I thought you said the FBI guys had him?” Marshall demanded.
“Yeah, well some shit must have happened, because he’s here,” Sam answered. “I called the FBI guy—Romero—but got voicemail. Looks like we’re on our own.”
“Get Bailey,” Danny told Sam. “And stay off the police radios. Cell phones only. Spread out and cover all the GPS routes to Pikes Falls. I’ll have Pollard meet us halfway. We’re going to be on that bastard like a burr.”
Sam turned toward the trees while Marshall followed Danny back to his truck. Before they could get more than a few yards, a shout called them all to a stop.
Bailey ran toward them. “They went left. Toward Absolution. They took the lane to the Cutty farm.”
“It’s a wrong turn.” Danny waved them toward their vehicles. “They’ll be turned around by now. Get moving!”
“No, wait.” Bailey sprinted to get in front of him. “They didn’t back out, they kept going toward the farmhouse.”
“Why the hell would he go there?” Sam demanded. “It’s a one-lane road. He trapped himself with no exit? No way.”
“I’m telling you, they’re at Cutty’s,” Bailey insisted. “I’m not making this shit up.”
“How the hell would he even know it’s there? The road is so overgrown you can’t even see it’s a road.”
“Lucy,” Bailey insisted. “It had to be Lucy.”
Danny lurched toward Bailey, his voice rising. “It makes no god damn sense. He wouldn’t go to some abandoned farmstead; he’d be making a run for the highway. Take himself back into traffic where a black SUV would be one of hundreds.”
Bailey refused to back down. “I’m telling you, they’re there, damn it!”
A trail of lightning forked overhead. In the accompanying crack of thunder, Marshall found the truth. Alexander didn’t make mistakes—he made informed decisions.
He grabbed his brother’s arm. When Danny spun faster than he was pulling, he flexed and prepared to duck a punch. There was no swing, but the anger and anguish in Danny’s eyes hit him just as hard.
It wasn’t the sheriff standing in front of him now, it was a terrified father.
Danny shoved him back. “Get the hell out of my way!”
Despite his own panic, Marshall’s conviction calmed him. Running off blind wasn’t going to save anyone. “Remember what the fed said? Alexander is always one step ahead. Every move they make, he’s already going in the other direction. If Bailey hadn’t seen them heading that way, we’d be halfway to Pikes Falls looking for him, and the whole time he would be sitting right next door, pleased as punch.”
“No one in their right mind would choose a dead end over a wide-open escape,” Danny snapped.
“You’re right,” Marshall answered, his own fears bleeding out as his tone hardened in challenge. “No normal person would. But we’re not dealing with normal, are we? Hell, we haven’t been dealing with normal since Georgie crashed into the damn creek. How the hell would he know not to go to Pikes Falls? How would he know that would be your first thought? Who does he have with him who could tell him exactly what’s going to happen? Who has been keeping him one step ahead for fifteen goddamn years?”
Danny tipped his head back, turned his face up to the rain, and closed his eyes. “Fuck!” After an excruciating breath-holding moment, he dropped his chin, his fear contained within a calculated glare. “He’s waiting us out.”
Sam paced a short path back and forth beside them. “Pollard comes down from Pikes Falls. We come up from Absolution. Only, instead of a sandwich, the bug scurries right off the damn plate.”
Danny directed his argument at Marshall. “He’s not going to take her word at face value. Not after she ran from him.”
“No.” Alexander would be wary of any information Emma fed him. “That’s why he would have asked Lucy where they could hide. Bailey’s right. She would have told him the closest abandoned spot that popped into her head.”
Danny stared at the trees, looking in the general direction of the Cutty farm. “Once you get past the overgrowth, it’s a full mile of open ground to the house. No way we can just drive up there.”
Marshall clasped his brother on the shoulder. “Then I suggest, little brother, we teach that city bastard why God gave us horses.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Emma wriggled against the barn post, seeking relief from the bite of rough rope that trapped her wrists behind her. Lucy was trussed up beside her, doing her best to get as close to Emma as physically possible, despite the beam separating them. The poor girl hadn’t spoken a word since Victor happily tied them up and left them wet, cold, and alone in the dark.
“It’s going to be okay,” Emma whispered.
Lucy’s answer was a soppy sniff.
The area near the front of the barn began to glow white. Alan strolled in through the giant door, a lantern swinging at his side. He lifted it above his head and hung it on a hook. Victor followed, carrying a small wooden table with a flat white box balanced on top. The last of the party to arrive was David Hopps, who was carrying a folding chair beneath each arm.
Victor set the table in the corner beneath the lantern while David unfolded the chairs and pointed them neatly at the table. At a nod from Alan, he walked straight to Emma, his mouth twitched up in a sneer.
Her newfound bravery ran away. She cowered back. Lucy whimpered and pulled at her ropes, but it wasn’t the girl he was after. He untied the knots around Emma’s wrist, taking no care to how rough he was being or how the twist of the twine scraped her flesh raw. Crushing her fingers, he yanked her to her feet and dragged her over to one of the chairs. He shoved her down into the seat. Her knee cracked into the table leg, and the small table rocked violently, nearly shaking the pristine white box right off the edge.
“Enough.” Alan’s command was a gunshot.
David let her go with a wink and a sneer. He backed up and joined Victor, who was lurking in the corner.
Alan removed the lid from the box and set it aside. He lift
ed a sketchbook from inside and set it in front of her with great care. She immediately recognized it as one of her own. He flipped the cover back and slowly turned page after page, passing the sketches she had drawn in the days before she’d escaped.
He stopped when he reached the first blank page.
He reached into the box and pulled out a glass jar. Dozens of colored pencils poked out the top in an artist’s bouquet. He delicately set it in the middle of the table like a rainbow centerpiece, then shoved the box to the floor with a disgusted snort, as though the cardboard container was rotting garbage.
She wasn’t surprised to see her art supplies. Now that the first part of his plan was complete, it was her turn to participate.
He knew Lucy was the sheriff’s daughter and had been quite pleased to tell the girl straight to her face that the only reason she was still breathing was because she was the key to their escape. Danny would be searching in desperation for her, and while he was tearing up the highways between Absolution and Pikes Falls, Lucy would be sitting in her own backyard waiting for them to get far enough away for Alan to drive out, unimpeded.
He’d completed step one. It was up to Emma to show him step two. If she drew a plane, he would know to find an airport. If she gave him a highway sign, David would drive them to that exit. And while she wanted nothing more than to send Alan spiraling in the wrong direction, she never could. Her art always told the truth.
He lowered himself into the seat across from her. After taking a moment to adjust the cuffs of his tailored dress shirt, he settled back into the chair and waited.
She shivered, both from the cold of her wet clothes and from the power of his emotionless glare. Unclenching her trembling fingers, she reached for the jar of colored pencils.
He moved the container away, then smiled and picked up her hand.
Disgusted for ever thinking the man was anything but evil, she played statue and forced herself not to recoil from his touch.
He sandwiched her hand between his. “This time, Emmaline, you will draw what you see for me. My future. My plans. My victory. You will draw it. You will give me my future.”
Her stomach lurched.
He wanted her to draw his secrets?
Panic sped her heart. It was a trap.
“You forbade it,” she whispered, her cheek stinging with the phantom pain of the only other time she’d given him a glimpse of his own future.
He’d nearly broken her jaw. She hadn’t been able to talk or eat without pain for weeks.
His grimace shifted into a sneer. “I did forbid it. And now I don’t.” The pressure on her left hand increased to a painful crunch. He carried on, showing no remorse at the pain he was causing her. “I’ve spent years working on this last deal. My ultimate success. The final play that’s going to make me one of the richest men in Chicago. No more moving supplies for everyone else. No more answering to someone else’s timetable. This time the people will be moving things for me. Isn’t that right, Victor?”
“Sure is, Mr. A.”
“Millions of dollars, Emmaline. Millions of dollars are riding on this deal. The entire city. Mine to control. Mine to possess. All the pieces are on the board, but there is one more move to make. And you, my dear Emmaline, are going to help me make it. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” She leaned across the table, hoping to ease the pressure on her left hand. Tears of pain pricked her eyes. She kept her right hand still, her palm flat against the tabletop.
If she tried to stop him, she’d have more than crushed fingers to worry about.
His casual tone switched to fury. “Do you have any idea the amount of trouble you have caused me? I’ve had to make the deals by myself. Make the promises by myself. And do you know who I had to put in charge of protecting my interests while I’m running around out here in this little shit hole? Vincent! The ox couldn’t find a shoe if he was wearing it! But you decided to run off and play cowgirl and leave me alone. I am not happy with you, Emmaline. After everything I’ve done for you. How could you!”
“I’m sorry, Alan. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.” Tears of pain flowed freely down her cheeks.
Alan released her with a snap. “No, you won’t do it again.”
She jerked back in her chair, cradling her hand. “No, sir.”
Over in the corner, Lucy was openly sobbing.
“Shut her up,” Alan ordered Victor.
“Leave her alone!” Emma lurched out of her chair, but David’s fingers pinched her shoulder and he shoved her back down.
Across the barn floor, Victor stomped his foot beside Lucy. The girl let out a frightened scream and bounced away, tugging the ropes frantically. Victor laughed harder and stomped again.
Emma whirled around in her chair to face Alan. “Please. Let me quiet her. I can make her stop. Then I’ll do your drawing. Please.”
While Alan considered her offer, Victor continued to taunt the crying girl with foot stomping and growls. Lucy’s cries and shrieks grew louder and louder.
After a moment Alan dipped his chin. “Make it quick.”
Emma flew from her chair and ran to Lucy. She dropped to her knees and hugged the trembling girl as close as she could with Lucy’s hands still bound to the beam.
She glared up at Victor, who was looming above them. “You’re scaring her!”
Victor grinned. “I know.”
“Victor.” Alan’s call soured Victor’s smile.
Once the giant backed away, Emma rocked Lucy closer. Loud enough for Alan to hear, she shushed the girl, promising her everything would be okay and asking her to be quiet. In between, she whispered a more important message.
“You’re a Boyer, and this is Boyer land,” she softly reminded the child. She drew power from her memories of Marshall—the way his eyes darkened when he spoke of the land and how much it meant to his family. How it flowed through his blood. How it had healed his broken heart. How it was who he was. “Close your eyes,” she whispered to Lucy. “Think about where you are. The building. The farm. Now choose your path. The direction you’re going to run when you go out the door. See it in your head. Feel it. The soggy squish of the ground beneath your feet. The openings in the trees, the branches smacking at your arms. The rain on your face. The sound of the wind. The darkness. There’s nothing to be afraid of, because this is your home. Your land. Your sanctuary. Everything here is here for you. You own it. You control it.”
Louder, she added a few choice words of sympathy and calming advice for Alan’s benefit, then she dropped her voice again. “Do you have it?”
Lucy’s nod was stiff and jerky.
“Good girl. Now keep thinking about it. And when I say run, you run like hell,” she ordered. “Got it?”
Lucy’s chin dipped again.
Emma leaned back and brushed the tears from the girl’s cheeks. “You got this.”
The answering sniff was loud and snotty, but Lucy’s eyes were no longer flowing with tears.
Emma returned to her seat at the table.
Alan slid the jar of colored pencils toward her. “Begin.”
She stared down at the empty page of the sketchbook. As she waited for the visions to flow, she willed her demons to show her the answers she sought for herself—starting with how to free Lucy’s hands, then how to create a big enough distraction for the girl to escape.
When the itching began, she was terrified of what message would be delivered.
She chose the first color and pressed the tip to the page, praying for an answer that would set Lucy free.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Rain dripped from the brim of Marshall’s hat and bounced off the shoulders of his overcoat. Four horses with armed riders waited in formation just under the tree line.
High above, a double fork of lightning outlined the shadow shape of the Cutty house. The light quickly flickered and died, but it had been enough of a flash to give them a clear view of the open ground between the building and their
position across the field.
The only thing keeping him from kicking Castor into a run and charging across the field was Danny’s warning not to do anything that would put Lucy or Emma in any more danger.
He clung to the belief that Emma was alive and unharmed because she was a necessity. But with every breath he prayed she was safe, guilt clamped itself around his chest, punishing him for thinking of his niece second. Lucy was his flesh and blood. It should be her life he was begging for.
He’d convinced himself that Alexander wouldn’t hurt Lucy—he needed her to keep Danny in line. But Emma was a question mark. Alexander had crossed the country to get her back. Or maybe he’d crossed the country to clean up her mess. Either way, tracking her down was not a good sign. Two people were already dead—maybe more they had yet to discover. People whose only mistake in life was a momentary connection to Emma.
Marshall had promised her she would be safe in Absolution. That he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. That he would protect her from the monster. He’d given his word, but so far, he hadn’t kept a single bit of it.
He’d lost her, he’d lost Lucy, and he had no concrete idea if they were even still in Absolution.
Or still alive.
No.
He shook himself free of the morbid thought.
They were both alive and well and out there somewhere, waiting for him to keep his word.
He gazed across the open field at the shadowed outline of the old farmhouse. The windows were dark and lifeless, with no movement behind the curtains, no matter how much he willed there to be.
Danny’s saddle creaked as he shifted his weight. “Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed, pointing to a spot to the far left of the house. “They’re not in the house, they’re down at the barn.”
Marshall scanned the area. The old barn was a good distance back from the farmhouse, but he couldn’t see anything out of place. It was all just trees and grass and rain. The branches of the massive oak in the yard swayed with the wind.